


you dropped your ticket but found me instead

by unkinsei



Series: Train AU [1]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkinsei/pseuds/unkinsei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aiba drops his boarding ticket for the train. Sho picks it up and together they experience serendipity, newborn friendships and maybe a bit of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you dropped your ticket but found me instead

**Author's Note:**

> AU on a steam train! Unbetaed, concrit very welcome. While I didn’t pair Jun with anyone I loved him in my own way. Also, I apologise in advance for not taking Sho seriously at all.

The train station is bustling with people, everyone with their own destination in mind and vision tunneled. Women heave their layers of skirts up shamelessly as they make a last second dash for their train, husbands lagging behind slightly with luggage in tow. Toddlers cling to their mother’s side, wide-eyed at the flurry of movement around them, and young children flock to the lolly and toy stores lining the walls with a handful of coins, wizened store keepers keeping half an eye on their wares and the other half on their daily newspaper. It is in the centre of this chaos that Sho stands, gripping onto the cart loaded with his three-piece luggage set with one hand and briefcase in the other. He’s hyperventilating a little.

It’s his first time at a railway station. Sure, he’s in his mid- (he doesn’t quite want to say late yet) twenties but he’s only ever travelled by car, or coach on occasion, within the small city he’s lived in all his life. The sole holiday taken with his family was a boat cruise where it was languid and peaceful and definitely didn’t make him feel as harried as he did now. He’s starting to regret independent travel. Sho sets down his briefcase and rummages in his tweed suit for his ticket. Seeing exact times and details like _2:47pm_ , Platform 5 and _compartment 7A_ calm him down. Burning the words into his mind, Sho slips the ticket back into his jacket’s inner pocket, picks up his briefcase and sets off towards the platform.

Sho arrives at Platform 5 with plenty of time to spare, the conductor not yet calling for passengers and just sitting idly on the steps up into the carriage. He settles down on a bench, rolling his luggage cart up next to the seat and resting his briefcase on his lap. Up the platform, railway workers in dusty uniforms and well-worn boots load crates into the storage carriages while guffawing about something or other. At the far end of the platform there is a flash of glitter and colour as a pair of performers in dazzling outfits board the train’s first-class compartment. The station is alive and, finally relaxed, Sho appreciates the culture and the organised system that he is beginning to get a glimpse of. The minutes pass just like this, the world moving around him and Sho feeling like the eye of a storm. The constant chatter and shouts fill his ears to the brim.

“The 2:47 on Platform 5 is now allowing passengers for boarding!”

The conductor’s calls have Sho rising to beat the already foreseeable queue. Suddenly, a swish of moss green flies past his face, forcing him back onto the bench lest he be hit in the face. A man in a green overcoat is running towards the conductor who is checking tickets, strides long and gangling. Sho stares after him, then notices the white slip of paper that has fallen from the man’s trouser pocket and drifted onto the tiled floor.

Sho looks at the paper, glances at the man now turning his pockets inside out and looks back. There is a crowd of people coming through to board. Sho thinks about his three-piece luggage filled with everything that is _absolutely_ necessary, and his mother’s incessant warnings about keeping an eye out for thieves.

He abandons his luggage (just for now, he really can’t live without his other suit) and lunges for the ticket before it is trampled upon. In the process, his bowler hat falls from his head and Sho can’t stifle his groan as the crowd does not spare the quality felt any sympathy. The throng of passengers pass by and Sho picks up his hat sadly. He has got the man’s ticket in his hand, though. Feeling quite martyr-like now, Sho jogs up to the man in green, who has proceeded to paw through his travel bag like a dog looking for a long lost bone.

“I believe this is your ticket?” Sho holds it out into the man’s field of vision.

There is a short pause as the stranger processes what’s in front of him, and then his face suddenly whips up, eyes shining and smile wide. Sho is momentarily lost for words by the man’s surprisingly delicate features, long lashes and full lips catching his attention.

“This is exactly my ticket! Thank you so much, I had no idea what I was going to do!” The man, who seems to have regained his spirits, goes to say something, but Sho suddenly recalls his luggage left abandoned at the bench. He makes some unintelligible sounds and a sort of wait here gesture to the open-mouthed man, and sprints back to his baggage. It’s all still there, and Sho sighs in relief. He places his hat on the top of the luggage to free a hand for his briefcase and rolls the cart over to the train entrance. The beautiful stranger is staring at his luggage in amazement, mouth now open for a new reason.

“Gosh, you’ve brought your whole house with you! Sure you don’t need to put some of that in the baggage compartment?” Sho sniffs.

“It’s all necessary.”

“I’m sure you can get through one night without the kitchen, at least?”

“Hilarious. I don’t know how you can--”

The two are interrupted by the conductor clearing his throat and looking up at them with clear almond eyes. He looks about ten years too young to be in his occupation, the conductor’s cap pressing his short blond hair flat and giving him a choppy fringe that barely reaches his thin brows. He holds a gloved palm out.

“Tickets, please.”

  
⁓

  


As they make their way through the narrow corridor, the man introduces himself as Masaki Aiba. He’s cheerfully assisting Sho with his luggage (there’s no way the cart could have made it in, and besides, a passing steward gave a disapproving sniff at even the idea of the dirty cart wheels coming anywhere near the train’s interior). The information that he’s in his last years of study and is travelling to be an assistant to an apparently renowned professor in the capital city tumbles happily out of Aiba’s mouth. Sho is fascinated as he wouldn’t have pinned the young man, with his fashionably lightened hair and toned physique, as a researcher. After asking for his name, Aiba immediately calls him Sho.

Sho stops in front of room 7A, thanks Mr. Aiba for the help, and offers to have a chat with him in the dining car later, perhaps? Aiba _hmms_ and looks down at his ticket stub.

“Well, I’m in compartment 7A as well, so we won’t have to wait until the dining car.” Sho’s unsure whether to be glad; the man’s been in very high spirits ever since getting his ticket back and he doesn’t know if he can handle that for two days and one night.

Inside their room, Sho does his best to squash his luggage in the overhead space (“No, Mr. Aiba, the smallest one has my first aid kit inside, I will not get rid of it through the window”), while Aiba shrugs off his overcoat and drapes it over his seat. Under the coat he’s wearing a well fitting shirt and a royal blue vest with matching slacks that accentuate the length of his legs. He rolls up his sleeves and unbuttons his collar to reveal brown skin, and suddenly Sho is feeling extremely doudy and pasty in comparison. Before he can embarrass himself and ask where in their seemingly always downcast country did he manage to get a tan, a shrill whistle blows. A speaker in the corner of the ceiling crackles and a voice tentatively tests the system.

“Erm, I will be your conductor for the duration of this journey. Satoshi Ohno. The train will be departing shortly. I’ll be around to say hello.” The speaker crackles off.

He’s not sure if it’s because of the conductor’s abrupt greeting or the fact that they’ve finished settling in, but Sho can taste the awkwardness in the air. Aiba’s unabashedly staring at him. He can just imagine this man, resonating with youth and vitality, taking in his fringe pasted to his forehead with sweat from moving luggage, the old scuff marks he’s never bothered about on his shoes and just his _brownness_. Apart from the slow clunks of the train’s mechanics that are gradually gaining speed, it is silent. Sho notices exactly how little space they have to each other in their cramped compartment.

“I-I want to explore the rest of the train. See the dining car and all that.” Sho stutters out his pitiful excuse and goes to open the door. Thankfully Aiba says he’ll join him later, and Sho escapes from the tiny box of inadequacy and envy and something else that he can’t quite name yet.

Now that he’s not hauling around baggage, Sho finally takes a good look at the carriage he’s in. The carriage is all warmth, with creaking wooden doors, golden lamps and musty red wallpaper with paisley designs. It’s a little well worn since they’re only in standard class, but the door handles have been polished to a gleam and tiny tears in the wallpaper from bumps with luggage are carefully glued down and painted over. The train is loved. Sho walks down the corridor, fingertips trailing against the wall. Passing by the various families and travelling businessmen in their compartments, he eventually reaches the dining car.

In contrast with the standard class carriage, the dining car is bright, airy and full of whites and creams. Sho realises that the car must not be ready for meal service yet, as a dozen or so crewmembers are taking up a few tables eating and having loud conversation. In the midst of the ordinary crewmembers who are attempting to communicate with large quantities of food in their mouths, Ohno, their Conductor of Little Words, stands out. He is contentedly chewing on a piece of bread layered in jam, looking out of the window. His crinkled grey and gold uniform is covered in crumbs. Sho wants to brush him off and take him home. He can see he's not the only one; at the back of the car a window into the kitchen reveals a youth in a crisp white chef’s uniform. While he does have a knife in hand and the sound of metal against chopping board can be heard, Sho can see the pale face looking up every few seconds to look in Ohno's direction.

He must be quite the character, Sho thinks, and goes up to complement the conductor on his splendid greeting to the passengers. Ohno smiles vacantly and says thanks. Sho realises it's the end of the conversation and goes to sit at an empty table in the opposite aisle.

Watching the mild scene of carnage (people should really not talk with their mouths full) is actually making Sho’s stomach rumble, and he glances at Ohno's admirer in the kitchen. The boy perks up, sensing Sho looking. He looks him straight in the eye and audibly growls. He decides to try anyway, rising from his seat and sidling up to the benchtop.

Sho can’t tell whether the watery eyes that flick up at him are caused from the unnecessarily huge pile of onions that he’s been chopping or from straining to keep Ohno in his field of vision.

“Are you the chef?” The knife drops with a clang. The young man gives him a sour expression, which looks almost comical when combined with his small chef hat and slightly oversize uniform.

“I assist him by day and plot his murder by night. No. Can I help you?” Sho tries not to look fazed.

“I know you’re not open yet, but I was wondering if there was anything to eat.”

“Have some bread.” Stubby fingers jab at a plate of day-old bread with a jar of jam beside it.

“Er, really?”

“Artists have bread when they’re hungry. Aren't you an artist?” His bloodshot eyes tell him that he doesn’t think Sho can draw anything worth a damn.

“Well,” ahems Sho, “actually, I write.” The assistant chef throws back his head in laughter.

“Oh, please. And I’ve managed to get Conductor Ohno into bed.” Sho’s not sure what to say to that so he ignores it. He opens his mouth to explain, and even Sho himself can hear the somewhat monotonous tone his voice takes on.

"I'm writing a book on the behaviour of moles and the effect they cause on their environment. Apart from a general analysis of their anatomy and behaviour I will be shedding light on the factors that make mole capture rates higher, and discuss the debate of whether they should be considered a pest or a protected species. I’ll be focusing heavily on the agricultural side of things...” As he drones on Sho also chooses to ignore the youth contorting his face into dramatic depictions of exclamation, horror and despair. The assistant chef finally halts his lecture with a fleshy palm covered in onion bits shoved in his face.

“You know, you remind me of this transvestite I knew once. She was chatty, too.” Sho decides he can’t keep up with this person's non sequiturs (rather, it feels like if he does, things will not turn out in his favour) and turns to leave. He’s spins right into Ohno, who is in his personal space and looking at him with a newly kindled interest.

“You’re talking with Nino.”

“Talking at me, Conductor Ohno. At. There’s a difference.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sho Sakurai. I’m in compartment 7A.”

At his introduction Nino butts in with, “Well, maybe Sho Sakurai from 7A needs some fresh air, because by the sound of it I don’t think any is getting to his brain. Do you mind, Conductor?”

Ohno stares at Nino, and it feels like time stops as they converse telepathically.. “Oh. Ohh. Okay.” He takes Sho’s arm in his hand and turns to lead him, but quickly turns back around, face unreadable. Sho is tugged down by the wrist that’s still in custody and motioned to lean in. Complying, he is met with a mouth and cupped hand put up to his ear. Sho can feel Ohno smiling.

“Nino likes you,” he stage whispers. Nino purses his lips and goes back to furiously dicing onions.

  
⁓

  


With Ohno in the lead, Sho walks through the opposite entrance to the dining car into the first class carriage. As the door slides shut, the hearty guffaws of the crewmembers turn into tinkling giggles from women in big skirts and small corsets. A few compartment doors are open, and Sho’s quick glances are enough to see ornate furniture, ceramic sinks, unlike standard class’ tin metal ones, and plush enough carpets to sink into. He also notices the gold and blue hues of the corridor. Ohno looks back to observe Sho peering around and muses, “Maybe if your book sells you’ll be able to get a first class compartment next time.”

Sho doesn’t mention that even if his book doesn’t sell he’d be able to afford it (because it _will_ sell like hotcakes) and just asks, “You were listening?”

“The whole time. I’ve never seen a mole in real life before.” At this, Sho wonders out loud exactly when Ohno started standing behind him.

“When you started talking to Nino.”

The two pass by a relatively open area with a piano on an elevated area in the corner. Ohno explains that they hold shows with magicians or singers to entertain the first class guests in the evenings. They soon reach a steel door; Ohno turns the handle downwards and pushes the door open with a long creak. Sho is greeted with a strong gust of wind that has him reaching for a nearby rail; the scenery is zipping by so fast it’s merely a blur of green and brown. He leans warily over the railing and feels like he’s getting sucked in by the train tracks they’re zooming over. Feeling the shaking of the train under his feet and the swaying of the carriage, Sho realises exactly how unsafe his position is. Crouching down and clutching to the metal bars with his eyes shut feels like a much safer option. Sho feels Ohno pat his shoulder and say, “This is my favourite spot. Nino doesn’t like me coming here, though.”

“Is it because it means risking your life?” Ohno laughs but cuts off mid-way. Sho opens his eyes to a slit to glance up at him; the conductor’s looking at his pocket watch and frowning. Sho’s dreading the increasing possibility of being left alone in a death trap, but he can’t bring himself to let go of the railing, which is feeling more fragile by the second.

“I have to make my rounds.”

Ohno’s almost at the door when Sho calls out desperately, “So what did you think about my book?” The conductor’s smile is too kind.

“I didn’t really get what you were talking about.” He slips through the entrance and swiftly pulls the door shut.

Sho is stuck. He understands exactly why Nino asked Ohno to take him here, and he can picture the slight figure shuddering with silent laughter while peeling carrots. Even being back in his compartment avoiding eye contact with Aiba, while he makes the room brighter purely through his disposition and sun kissed skin, feels like a better option. Sho groans and closes his eyes again. He can hear the painfully long creak of the door again.

“Are you sick?” A voice calls from the doorway. Sho turns his head slightly towards it.

“No, but I’m stuck.” The voice snorts.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The voice turns into a strong arm which hoists him up by the elbow. Sho grips onto the arm in replacement of the rail and slowly opens his eyes. A man with dark, wavy hair and prominent facial features is looking at him with a mixture of derision and concern. Sho croaks.

“Please get me out of here.”

  
⁓

  


After he’s dragged back into the carriage, Sho catches his breath, wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers and holds one out to the man, who’s now leaning on the door sighing.

“Thanks for your help. I’m Sho Sakurai.” The man doesn’t take it. Sho falters and quickly realises that the freshly ironed white shirt, perfectly tailored pants and grey jacket slung over his shoulder combine to produce a fair recreation of a long-time flourishing businessman’s son. He’s fairly sure that while he’s met many that dress similar to this man, not many have acted so aloof.

“Sorry to disturb your enjoyment of the view. First class must get stuffy with all that... clutter.” Sho tries to keep his voice in a not often used tone that says, _yes, I’m just so nonchalant because I have enough money for me not to care. Wow, you too, huh? Don’t we have a lot in common?_

The man ignores the prompt for rich young master bonding and gazes over Sho’s shoulder. “Are you from standard class?”

“Oh, er, yes.” Sho refuses to get downtrodden. “And actually, I think I like it more than first, really.” His saviour’s attention perks slightly.

“Why would you say that?”

“It’s... It’s more comfy, I suppose. Sure, it hasn’t got all the bells and whistles first class has, but everyone’s cheerful and happy. Plus, you can tell the staff like it as well, it’s so well-maintained. It’s my first time travelling by train but it’s definitely more than adequate. You should really go and take a look. It’s just... warm.” Sho is reminded of Aiba. “Especially the people.”

The stylish man makes a noise of mild interest and gets up from the door. “Why don’t you take me then?” He’s raising a thick eyebrow at him and Sho feels like they need warning signs around them. Sho clears his throat and announces he’ll lead the way. They quickly pass through the dining car, now empty of any staff save for a couple of waiters setting up tables. Nino’s onions have been cleared away. The first-class tourist is strutting like a model, jacket still swinging from over his shoulder and legs making long strides. Sho is finding the scene of a young man with money spilling out of his pockets curiously exploring an average train carriage surreal. They reach his room, and Sho announces so, turning the doorknob. As soon as it opens, he’s pushed inside and the assurance of, “I’ll be back in a minute,” is uttered. The door shuts behind him.

Sho shrugs to himself, unable to be any more disconcerted, and looks around for Aiba; he spots him in the corner next to the window, green overcoat blanketing him save for a hand loosely holding a journal and his legs poking out at the ends. His eyes soften at the sight. Sleeping, he looks like an awkward child who’s just started their growth spurt, and Sho goes to pull the journal from his hands and tuck him further in. Just as he finishes, a rapping at the door rings clearly through the room. Aiba stirs and opens a bleary eye under his mussed hair.

The door opens and the pampered young passenger enters the room. Except he’s wearing the same brimless cap that all the other stewards are wearing, and the jacket Sho had presumed to be an expensive blazer is in fact the railway uniform’s grey and gold jacket, now buttoned all the way up to his neck. The wavy hair is tucked away neatly. His pants are still perfectly tailored.

“Excuse me. My name is Jun Matsumoto, and I’ll be one of your stewards on this carriage. I hope you’ve been enjoying your journey thus far.” Jun catches Sho’s wide eyes and grins. “I take that you managed to load your luggage on safely?” Sho expression of confusion slowly turns into horror as he recognises the steward.

“Oh god, you’re the one that heard us considering using the luggage cart!” Jun gives him a bitter-smile that doesn’t quite have forgiveness yet.  
Aiba’s still half asleep and Sho is shell shocked. Jun’s smile softens.

“The dining car will be ready to serve in half an hour.” He bows to take his leave and clicks the door shut gently.

Sho sputters, “He— First class— I swear—!” He turns to Aiba to have a proper squawk but all he sees is a tuft of hair poking out from the top of the overcoat. The coat rises and falls steadily. A heavy sigh escapes Sho’s mouth as he falls back into the bench besides the sleeping pile of coat and person. He recalls the suffocation that he was feeling before he left and strangely it has, for the most part, dissipated.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not looking right at you,” he muses, poking the coat tiredly. It’s barely been an hour of exploring the train but he’s met a lot of odd people and been more stressed than he has since his college exams. Sho watches the moss coat for a while, under which Aiba has begun to snore lightly. He feels a bit drowsy, too.

  
⁓

  


_Nino is balancing knives on the tips of his fingers, hands wavering slightly. He catches his eye and smirks, throwing the knives up in the air and catching them by the handles. He takes aim and all Sho can do is duck. Sho falls to the floor and a piece of bread is waved in his face. Looking down at him is Ohno, chewing on his own piece and dropping crumbs all over his head. Sho goes to brush the crumbs off but all he finds is a steward’s cap. Jun rushes in, declares it’s his and how dare he wear it, snatching it away. He’s now on his knees, knives and bread crumbs surrounding him. A warm coat blankets him. Aiba’s on one knee and smiling as he fixes the collar of the coat and tries to fix it onto his shoulders. He murmurs, as he leans in and wraps his arms around his waist, that if he’s feeling cold, they should share._

Sho awakes with a start. His mind is filled with wondering how to deal with all the knives and bread crumbs, but he soon exhales, eyes still closed. He’s warm.

He’s _warm_. Sho doesn’t dare open his eyes but he can tell there’s something covering him, and it feels suspiciously like the overcoat that he had tucked Aiba into before he fell asleep. It also feels like Aiba is still underneath. With him. Sho decides that if he doesn’t open his eyes now, he never will, and may as well be blindfolded by embarrassment for the rest of the trip.

Aiba is turned to face him, body curled slightly to accommodate the smaller area possible to be covered by. Messy strands of hair hide most of his face, but Sho can still see the long eyelashes and shapely lips that he had admired before. The atmosphere feels slightly constricted to Sho again (it must be the proximity.) He realises that one of Aiba’s hands is tucked under him at his lower back; Sho sits up to release it and Aiba stirs from the movement. Woken up, he stretches his arms up high before settling back into the coat, pulling it up to his chin. He gives him a sleepy smile.

“Hello.”

It catches Sho off guard momentarily, and thoughts like _so this is what it’s like to wake up to him_ and _I think I wouldn’t mind it_ race through his mind. He tries to force them down.

“Hello there. I think we may have missed dinner.” Sho indicates towards the window, which is now revealing a dark sky with stars speckled all over. Partially open, the window is letting in a cool evening breeze. Taking all of this in Aiba jumps out from under the coat.

“I hope not! I’m starving!” He gets caught on the hem of the coat in his rush and staggers out of the room, knocking into the door. He takes a few steps towards the dining car, then turns back towards the toilet. He’s like a walking accident, and Sho can’t stop looking.

He wants to punch himself in the skull. He is a rational and intelligent human being, who, so far in his life, has been quite satisfied with women. He sternly reminds himself that, no, thank you, girls will do just fine, and that just because someone has a nice smile doesn’t mean you fall for him. Then Aiba comes back into view, trips on a bit of raised carpet in front of their door and giggles breathily. Sho gives in a little to love.

  
⁓

  


When they enter the dining car Sho’s prediction appears to have come true; the tables are empty of any passengers and there is the clatter of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Aiba visibly droops. Not liking the idea of a disappointed Mr. Aiba, Sho pulls him by the wrist up to the window looking into the kitchen. Behind an impressive wall of bubbles, all that can be seen of anyone washing the dishes is the tip of a white chef hat.

He calls out over the soapy barrier, “Hello, Nino. Are you busy?” Sho attempts to casually lean an elbow on the kitchen top, but the layer of soap suds makes him slip off. A hand drags some bubbles out of the way to let suspicious eyes glare at the two of them.

“Why, hello there, Sho Sakurai from 7A. You don’t actually have the right to call me Nino yet, you know.”

“What do I have the pleasure of calling you, then?” Sho is finding it odd to be conversing with only a pair of highly emotive eyes.

“Sir Kazunari, if you please,” the eyes drawl.

“Sir Kazunari, my friend here and I are in a bit of a dilemma.” At “friend,” Aiba perks up and swipes some more of the suds away so that Nino’s entire face can be seen. Despite introducing himself while wiping his hands with a dishcloth, he is thoroughly ignored.

“What is that, exactly?”

“We completely missed meal time and we’re absolutely famished. Would you be able to cook up something small for us? Please?”

Nino rubs his chin thoughtfully, leaving a trail of suds over his face that Aiba automatically reaches over the bench to wipe off. His attention caught, Nino looks Aiba up and down for a moment. As if coming to a decision, he dips his fingers in the soap suds and draws a moustache on the dumbfounded man. His eyes crinkle and a “That’s much better” is murmured. Aiba grins and swipes some suds from Nino’s hands to draw a goatee.

“I agree.” Aiba’s expression turns sour as some of the moustache drips into his mouth. “Eurgh.”

Nino turns away from them to start rummaging in the fridge. His voice echoes from within.

“Take a seat. We’ve got some leftovers.” Sho and Aiba grin at each other and clasp hands together in celebration.

Waiting at the dining table obediently, Sho tries to find the courage to discuss the way it was very kind of Mr. Aiba to lend him his overcoat, and how he doesn’t mind the fact they were sharing. He tries to find the conversational path that would lead to him inviting Aiba under his coat, but he’s at a loss.

There is a small hole beginning to fray in the table cloth, and Sho absentmindedly scratches at the edges to make it grow bigger. Aiba looks down at the quickly expanding tear.

“Do you always do that?” Sho stops and looks up, wondering if Aiba realises he’s been thinking about how a candlelit dinner could be a more appropriate and successful setting for their meal.

“Do what?”

Aiba leans forward to look him in the eye, then distances himself again with his chin propped up on his palm. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t I tell you dinner was being served two hours ago?” Sho looks up from his plate to see their steward walking briskly up to them, Ohno trailing behind him. As he approaches their table it becomes apparent that Jun’s expression could best be described as stormy.

“Thought we’d have a short nap first, actually,” says Sho with as much confidence as he can muster with Jun’s hard stare burning into him.

Jun clicks his tongue. “I don’t know if you realised, but we run this train under a schedule.” Sho wants to start cowering under the table, but stays firm. Thinking about how Aiba’s sitting across from him helps to stop him from becoming a quivering mess on the floor asking for forgiveness and a copy of the trip’s itinerary.

Ohno finally reaches the table, having been preoccupied with making eating gestures to Nino, and lays a hand on Jun’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s a problem. I’m going to eat now too.”

Sho tries to look stern; it is so difficult to be authoritative with these crewmembers. “Conductor, I still haven’t forgiven you for abandoning me.”

“But I even got Jun to check on you for me.”

Aiba is just staring at the exchanges being passed quickly from one side to the other, mouth opening slightly in surprise. Sho quickly introduces them as they take their seats, Jun sitting next to him and Ohno beside Aiba. Conversation flows steadily amongst them, mostly about the crewmembers’ occupation, with Ohno putting in a sentence every now and then.

“Sho’s a writer,” adds Ohno as if an afterthought. Both Jun and Aiba turn quickly to look at him to ask for confirmation. Sho nods while refusing to make eye contact.

“What do you write about?” asks Aiba, head ducking around so that he can look into Sho’s eyes.

“Don’t get him started. He’s about as interesting and creative as the head chef’s latest menu.” Two plates of risotto and a basket of bread is slid unceremoniously onto the table. Ohno immediately reaches for the bread. Without Sho even realising it, Nino has joined the table; hand snaking around Ohno’s waist to stop himself from falling off the bench that is now suffering from a severe lack of space.

Jun smirks. “How unfortunate.”

Then Nino pulls Ohno closer, and Sho is not so sure it’s for stability purposes.

  
⁓

  


Jun excuses himself from the table first, touting the topic of Sho’s writing as an excuse. He thanks them all for the conversation and goes back into the standard-class carriage. After a short pause Sho continues the conversation.

“So what I’m out travelling to research is—” Nino throws his hands up in the air.

“Oh someone, anyone, make this man stop.”

  
⁓

  


As they make their way back to the compartment, the train sways and clunks rhythmically, as if singing a clumsy lullaby to put its passengers to sleep. Sho is trailing his fingers along the corridor wall again, partly to keep himself upright but also because he’s grown attached to the worn down reds and smooth wood. Aiba looks at the action curiously and mimics it on his side of the corridor, but quickly grows bored of it and returns his hands to his pockets. Sho can tell Aiba doesn’t quite understand, and something about the swift dismissal has him trying to justify why.

“This train is something else, I think. Well, It’s the first train I’ve been on so I wouldn’t know about the other ones, but this train is probably different.”

Aiba eyes are wide. “It’s your first time on a train?”

“Yes? Is there a problem with that?”

“You seem quite used to it,” he explains, fingers going back to the wall experimentally. “It feels like you’ve been friends with the crew for years.”

“Well, they’re my first train friends as well,” Sho muses.

“I suppose I can be your first compartment friend, then.”

Unlocking the door to 7A, they are met with their benches extended into beds and laid out with pillows and blankets. Sho thinks back to the retreating figure of Jun, and feels a bit warm inside. He sits down on his bed and settles against the wall, feet hanging off the edge.

Aiba bounds over to his newly made bed, collapsing over it with a happy sigh. Sho watches him fondly as he rolls from his back to his stomach and back again, all the while frowning slightly. He looks at Sho from across the room solemnly.

“My bed is really hard.”

He slides off the bed and reaches over to prod Sho’s bed cautiously, and then with growing enthusiasm. He let’s out a breathy “Can I?” and all Sho can think is that maybe this is a massive plot just so they can end up sleeping together again (and if it is he’d be more than happy to be deceived), so he’s stiffly pats the bedding next to him, inviting Aiba to sit beside him.

It’s quiet except for the occasional clunk, both simply leaning against the compartment wall and being lulled into peace by the train’s rocking. Sho is almost snoozing when he hears Aiba speaking.

“You didn’t tell me you were a writer,” Aiba murmurs, peeking to see if Sho will look him in the eye, which he does with a little difficulty. “What are you working on?”

“Do you actually want to know?” Aiba nods firmly. Sho fully opens his eyes to stare incredulously at the man eagerly waiting, and starts speaking slowly, but gradually picking up speed.

Aiba listens in a seemingly attentive manner, nodding at all the right times and making humming sounds. Sho realises he’s doing that being dull thing again and he begins to slouch conclusively into the bench, until Aiba pipes up.

“So how does the change in temperature affect their sleeping cycle?” Sho’s eyes widen and his back straightens out again. Clearing his throat, he clicks open his briefcase and fishes out a detailed graph with numbers and an array of acronyms scattered over it from a neatly organised file. He holds it out between them to explain and Aiba peers down in interest, tracing some of the lines with a finger.

The conversation about moles continues back and forth for some time, and it’s kind of weirding Sho out because no one’s ever had an interest in what he’s been writing about. He’s not quite sure if he should be ecstatic or in despair that this is the first person he’s found who would consider reading his book.

Sho looks up from the graph when Aiba makes to add a comment about the use of clinical observation, and he quickly realises he shouldn’t have, as their faces are inches apart. With his face so close, Sho can’t help but look at the perfect bow of Aiba’s full lips and the way it’s slightly open in his concentration. He also can’t help but notice that Aiba is making no move to put any distance between them.

“I— I think it’s time we sleep,” stutters Sho as he stands up to reach for the light switch. Flicking the switch to shroud the compartment in darkness, he turns back to Aiba to say good night. Suddenly, the train makes a particularly strong jerk that has Sho tipping forward into the bed. Aiba grabs his arm to steady him.

“Stop thinking so hard, you’ve wanted to do this since we woke up together, right?” Aiba breathes into his ear, voice husky and barely over a murmur.

“How did you know?” Sho asks, in a whisper that is more from horror than anything else.

Aiba thinks, head tilting up in consideration and catching the moonlight from the window with its curtains still drawn back. “Your face says everything, really."

Before Sho can protest that he’s not _that_ transparent, Aiba kisses him. It’s soft, experimental and slightly hesitant, despite his confidence moments earlier. In the near darkness Sho can feel himself getting lost in finding out exactly what Aiba’s lips feel like and the way he is beginning to be pushed down, a hand on his shoulder and a leg between his thighs. As they lean into the bed there’s a crinkling sound from underneath Sho’s elbow.

“Wait,” gasps Sho and he turns back to feel for his suitcase. Hearing Aiba breathe out deeply, he explains while neatly putting away his papers, “I hate when I leave my papers out and they get bent — I like keeping my files crisp.” Clicking his suitcase shut, Sho places a hand on the back of Aiba’s neck and pulls him down to kiss him again.

As Sho ventures to deepen the kiss, Aiba unbuttons his shirt, throwing it off and then wrapping his arms around Sho. Between kisses he chuckles.

“So you can make the first move.” Aiba opens his mouth against Sho’s while unbuttoning his pants. Sho follows suit hastily, allowing a hand to reach in and take hold.

It’s clumsy and giggly; Sho almost gets stuck in his thoughts once or twice ( _am I really doing this with a man that I’ve met only hours earlier?_ ), but Aiba pulls him out each time with a well-timed squeeze that has his back arching and his own hand faltering.

Aiba comes first; he moans and hides his face in the nook of Sho’s shoulder and neck. Sho can feel the warmth spilling over his hands and he gives him a few last tugs, feeling oddly proud of himself. When Aiba re-emerges he presses a hard, thankful kiss against his lips and returns to rubbing him off, gradually gaining speed until Sho cries out, climaxing onto Aiba’s palm and his own shirt.

Sho feels infinitely wise for bringing an extra change of clothes. He rises from the bed to wet a couple of face cloths in the sink and uses one to thoroughly wipe himself down. Aiba takes the other one offered to him with a sleepy smile.

Now that his breathing has steadied and his mind isn’t so clouded, Sho is acutely aware of how Aiba takes up the entire bed with the limbs on the outer side splayed out and hanging in the air.

“You can have my bed. Masaki.” Sho tumbles off the bed and clambers over to the other side. “Since you’re already cozy and all.”

“Oh. Thanks.” A flurry of sheets and Aiba’s outline reduces to the lumpy curves of the blanket. Muffled, he adds, “You make me want to have groundbreaking discoveries in science on a daily basis. G’night.”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to do that,” Sho reassures him. “Goodnight.”

Settling onto the bed, Sho realises Aiba wasn’t lying; it feels like he’s sleeping on concrete.

  
⁓

  


The crackle of the speaker has Sho groaning and rolling tighter into his blanket, huddling into the wall. His back aches and he’s fairly sure he was facing the other way when he went to sleep.

“We have reached our destination! Please prepare to disembark,” Ohno announces with triumph, as if he had pulled the train along himself. There is a creak as the bed across the compartment lightens its load. With a squeak water starts running at their tiny sink, and Sho assumes Aiba is washing his face with incredible vigour from the amount of splashing. He stays curled up; the sounds are so everyday and natural that he’s actually scared of how much he enjoys just _listening_.

“It’s time to get up,” says the voice above him. Sho rolls over, feeling like a rebellious teenager who just wants five more minutes. Aiba is standing over him, buttoning his shirt. He mourns the quickly disappearing skin beneath the fabric.

“Sho, your trousers are on the floor,” Aiba says, bending down to pick them up by forefinger and thumb cautiously.

“That happens sometimes. You should be glad I’m not naked.”

“How curious,” Aiba responds in wonder.

  
⁓

  


The platform is filled with passengers alighting from the train, gathering their luggage and swarming towards the exits. The capital has a different atmosphere from Sho’s small home city; the people seem to be dressed smarter and brighter but are walking faster too. Aiba appears from the carriage door with Sho’s last carry-on, and gazes around him as if slightly out of his element as well.

“I knew the city was flashy so I tried to dress for it, but I don’t know,” he admits. Sho assures him the blue and green combination is very metropolitan (he is worse off with his brownness and dusty hat, anyway). He turns to scan the platform for the crewmembers.

Jun is saying goodbye to passengers; he catches Sho’s eye and nods farewell. Ohno is talking with Nino from outside the carriage; thin arms reach through the window and takes his conductor’s hat to wear at a jaunty angle. Laughing softly, Ohno passes over his jacket as well. Sho calls their names and Nino grins back from under a layer of grey and gold; Ohno waves but it’s not sure whether he’s saying hello or goodbye. An awkward clearing of the throat brings his attention back to Aiba. He has his hands shoved into his pockets and is looking down at his toes. Sho waits for him to speak, and he does eventually, a little too loud and the words tripping past his tongue.

“Listen, I think you’re real fascinating. Like, the way you became friendly with everyone on board even though you’re very uninteresting sometimes. How you touch everything you pass, the fact that what you’re thinking is written on your face and definitely how you’ve got so much luggage. And I never let anything fascinating get past me.” Sho’s cheeks feel hot and he barely remembers to protest against being treated like a field experiment under observation.

“So anyway, here’s my address. Or the Professor's, actually, but I’m living there, starting today. Write to me sometime?” Sho looks down at the paper shoved hurriedly into his hands as if giving him too much time to think will change his mind. Under the address written in blotchy ink there is a scrawl of what he suspects is a mole. Suddenly Sho is feeling a lot less brown (at least on the inside). He smiles fondly at the drawing, then looks up into Aiba’s hopeful eyes.

“I’d rather come to visit you, if that’s all right,” Sho says. Aiba grins brightly.

“Anything, for the man who picked up my ticket.”


End file.
